


Steinway and Sennelier Oils

by canibecandid



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Art/Music School AU, Bisexual Jack Zimmermann, Bisexual Larissa "Lardo" Duan, M/M, Not Beta Read, Past Relationship(s), Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canibecandid/pseuds/canibecandid
Summary: The fall of Eric Bittle's junior year at Samwell is shaping up to be one of his best years yet. Except for one, very small, catch... his GenEd Classes.He's put them off as long as possible in favor for all of his music focused classes, but there's no getting around it, and he needs a tutor.Luckily, Shitty knows a guy...
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	Steinway and Sennelier Oils

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vonPeeps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonPeeps/gifts).



> The art school au that not a damn soul asked for, but here I am.  
> Not Beta'd.

The day starts like it always does. The sun rises, Bitty’s alarm clock rings, and he isn’t even there to shut it off. Lardo can hear it shrilling in the next room and she wishes that she could be irritated as she shrugs off the bed and drags the blankets with her, grabbing the butter knife off of the counter in their tiny kitchenette as she knocks on Eric’s door.

“Bits?” It’s more of a groan of agony than anything else as Lardo knocks again.

“I’m comin’ in.” She places the tip of the butter knife in the tiny indent on the lock, twists, and stumbles forward as the door swings open. Groggily, Lardo shuffles through the uncluttered room, shrinking further into the blankets that covered her head. She slaps at the radio, groaning hollowly when the beeping doesn't stop. It slowly builds with each swipe of her hand that fails to get the alarm to turn off, until she finally pulls the radio from being plugged into the wall.

“Finally,” Lardo mutters “ _silence_.”

* * *

And across campus, in the Langley Music Hall, practice room C, the exact opposite could be said.

* * *

His long hands run furiously over the keys, sharp and staccato, twisting and craning to hit each note. Blonde hair trimmed neatly, wisps of baby hairs surrounding his face. Focused brown eyes tracking each note on the page, lips pursed and brow furrowed in concentration as he tappers back for the ending of the song. 

His heart's still racing as he closes his eyes and drinks in the sound of that last note. 

“Damned Russians.” It’s no more than a grunt, as he plucks the water bottle off the ground and takes a drink. 

“Bittle, I thought higher level piano classes started in two weeks?” B. Knight tones from the door, in a green cropped top and shorts with little avocados on them, violin case firmly in hand. 

“Same could be said for violin sectionals, Shitty.” It’s a cool reply, all ice and frost, until the faintest of chuckles can be heard, Shitty’s mustache twitches as he fights with off laugh. He smiles, dissolving into his own fit of laughter, rising from the piano bench and giving the man a hug.

“It's good to see you, Bits! Back from Georgia already, you beautiful fuck?” 

Eric laughs, sitting back down on the bench, scratching the back of his neck. “Unfortunately. I’m supposed to be shopping around for tutors and getting an idea of what I want to do for competitions.”

“Tutors? Like for piano?” Shitty looks unconvinced at best, leaning against the wall, violin case clattering loudly as he moved and shifted. “Or for academics.”

Eric gives him a flat look as he takes another drink of water. “Take a guess, Shits.”

“To be completely fair to Doc Hall, you totally stress baked your way through your government class.”

“Did I ask for opinions? Plus, if I remember, you cried while eating a blueberry crumble directly out of the dish while waiting for your chair results.”

Shitty let out a gasp of indignation, throwing a dramatic hand to his forehead. “I suffer for my art and my vision. How else would someone react to having their very soul judged?” 

Eric's smile fades a little. The answer is _not-very-well_ , yet another reason for him to stay away from the competition circuit. Shitty, thankfully, doesn't notice as he corrals Bitty into cleaning off his stand and dropping Shit’s violin off in his instrument locker before heading towards the dining hall. 

“So what tutoring do you need?” Shitty asks, scratching his stomach just below where his top ended. 

“History, mostly.” Eric mutters with a frown. History, British Literature, and French. He could probably push back the French as long as possible. He only needed two semesters of it for his program, anyway. The rest? Hell. Essay writing hell. “Not everything is math based, unfortunately.”

“Oh man, that works out! I’ve got a roommate back at the Haus. Name is Jack, he’s into all that boring white dad shit. He could probably help you out.” 

Shitty clearly doesn’t remember that Eric has met Jack before. All 6ft 1in, 200 lbs, surly ass of him. Eric had dropped off sheet music to Shitty via Jack when the flu was spreading around campus. The brick shit house scowled, sized him up and told him to eat more protein, of all things. Like he was on an athletic scholarship. Still, it was better than taking time away to actually find a tutor, and Shitty was no fool. If Shitty said Jack knew his stuff, then he knew it; asshole or not. 

Eric frowned as they went up the steps of Founders, a decision partially made. 

“Don’t look so put out, brah. He’s a chill dude.” Shitty says with a smile, squeezing Eric into a half hug as they squeezed through the doorway to the dining hall. “Text Holtzy to see if he’s here. I’m going to sweet talk my way into pancakes.”

* * *

The reality is that Shitty’s idea of sweet-talking-for-pancakes involves the waffle batter from the waffle making station and giving sad eyes to the cooks that are working the grill line, but Eric’s got to give it to him; Shitty does do a great kicked dog face. But he does as he’s told and texts Adam as he swipes his meal card for the both of them, giving an absent minded smile to the cashier. His phone vibrates in his hand and Eric reads the incoming string of texts from Adam with a roll of his eyes before looking over the cafeteria. He spots Adam almost immediately, and Justin in a close second, the latter spots him and waves him over. 

“Hey Bits, my bro!” Adam cheered, waving wildly, hitting the table excitedly on the table. “Bro, brah, bruh, Ransom’s sculpture got accepted into an exhibit!”

Justin’s shoulders tense for a minute before relaxing as Adam wraps his arms around him and squeezes tightly. “I’m so fuckin’ proud, dude.”

“Congrats, Rans, that’s huge!” Justin blushes a little, adjusting and fidgeting with the hat on his head as takes in the praise.

“Thanks guys, it’s a huge honor, but I’m on scholarship, so I can’t accept any payment for what is _technically_ my academic work.” 

“Fuck the capitalistic idea that the collegiate system owns your created work.” Shitty crows, plunking down a plate of pancakes with charred pieces of meat from the grill dotted sporadically through them. It starts Shitty and Ransom down a long conversation about intellectual property rights and the sponsorship of scholarships that, frankly, has Eric’s mind spinning.

Even Adam’s normally large smile is becoming more of a tight grimace, eyes darting over. 

“Muffin?” Bitty offers, standing, while Shitty and Ransom continue to talk. 

“Oh fuck yeah.”

Founders, questionable pancakes aside, make a damn good blueberry muffin. The type with streusel crumble on top that makes Eric crave to bake even though it’s nearly impossible to do in the tiny kitchenette in his dorm room. Adam, of course, grabs four and is already shoving one in his mouth as they walk along the cafeteria lines and get breakfast. It’s pretty empty, summer sessions still going strong and only early arrivals back on campus, so the lines are blessedly short and it’s not long before they head back to their table. 

Turns out, in the time it took for them to get the muffins, Samwell’s Own Asshole: Jack Zimmermann, had sat down in Eric’s spot and was scowling at Eric’s sheet music while Shitty gestured emphatically.

“So, basically, Bits needs hel- Oh, hey brah.” Shits stops, gesturing back and forth between Eric and Jack. “Jack, meet Eric.”

Jack nodded in lieu of a greeting, eyes narrowed on the muffins.

“I thought I told you last time to eat more protein.”

**Author's Note:**

> going to be honest with y'all, 2020 has been rough as fuck, so any comments would be like... rad as hell.


End file.
